Like I'm a Ghost
by raggedybluebox
Summary: Cho Chang one week after losing Cedric. Everything is different.


I know they look at me different. All of them; in the corridors, in the Commonroom, even in class. Like I'm a ghost or something. Someone they can't even talk to anymore.

McGonagall passes my paper back at the end of Transfiguration and I notice her hands are shaking – quite a lot, like pale leaves in a rough wind. An A swoops across the top page, but I can't have spent more than five minutes on it. I don't deserve it and we must both know it, because I look up at her to ask if she's made a mistake, and she doesn't even hear me. Her eyes are full of sadness as they sweep over the top of my head, as if I'm barely even there, and then she moves on without a backwards glance.

Hurt courses through me, as though someone has a knife and won't ease up on the blows. It's like I'm being punished; Cedric wasn't the only one I had to let go of that day. Now my friends can't even hold a conversation with me; they think it's too awkward, or pathetic – like it must seem stupid through my eyes, after what I've been through. But I'd rather talk to them about other boys or Quidditch or anything like that than listen to their _silence._ What's wrong with them? They're supposed to be supportive but I almost feel like they're pushing me away.

They don't mean to, but they don't understand. I don't want to be reminded of it anymore.

I collect up all my things into my bag and lift it onto my shoulder, urgently stuffing my wand into the pocket of my robes. I feel about thirty pairs of eyes on me. It's been a week. Haven't they stopped staring by now? Face burning, I'm out of the door before the bell's rung. McGonagall doesn't try to stop me, which somehow makes me feel even worse.

I'm almost running down the corridor, and only just stop as one of the moving staircases, the one I was about to board, unexpectedly swings its ugly head away from me. I'm forced to wait, on edge and anxious to escape, my friends hurrying somewhere behind me. At this rate they'll catch up, easy, and I don't want their knowing stares around me, their exchange of whispers behind my back. I shove a few first years out of the way and head off down a different route, tears spiking my eyes. I can't deal with it anymore. Why don't they all back off? Or better yet, just act like I'm human?

Stepping onto the open grounds is a refreshing. It's quite cold, so people with free periods won't be around to talk about me. If I had Potions next I probably wouldn't dare skip class, but it's only Charms, so I think I can get away with it. Flitwick is head of Ravenclaw so he knows me better than most professors. He shouldn't be on my case too quickly.

I start to walk along the side of the castle, unsure of what exactly I plan to do, when some fourth year Griffindors trek past me, back from Hagrid's hut and Care of Magical Creatures. Red-eyed, I try and keep my head down.

Someone brushes against my shoulder and then apologises. I'm so sick of everybody apologising and am just ready to shout at them to leave me alone when I realise it's Harry. He's starting to look at me with a frown, as though he's just noticed that I've got tear tracks down my face and am evidently not heading in the right direction.

'Cho, are you alright?'

'I'm fine, thanks, Harry.'

'Harry, come on, we've got Defence Against the Dark Arts!' Ron calls over his shoulder. 'You don't want to miss that do you?'

'Moody's gone, Ron, we'll just have someone standing in,' Harry replies smoothly. 'Go on without me, I'll catch up in…in a minute, alright?' He looks more at Hermione with this addition, who in turn glances quickly between us, grabs Ron's arm and starts dragging him off.

Harry turns back to me and smiles uneasily. 'So, er…since how are you is a bit of a stupid question, do you want to…um…catch a butterbeer after school? Because it's a Friday. And I've got an invisibility cloak if they don't want us to-'

'Thanks Harry, but…I think I'll stay inside, actually, over the weekend – got to catch up on homework.' I don't know why I said it. Around Harry I'm actually relaxing, easing up, because he seems to _get it._ He's treating me normally. Speaking to me normally and not trying to pretend. Being the Boy Who Lived, I guess the kind of attention I've been tormented by is every day of his life. It's sort of nice to know he has my back. But I couldn't help seeing where this was going – that I'll have to let Harry down, because…

'Just, you know, as friends.' He looks at me honestly and a little bit hopefully. 'If you need to talk to anyone. If you just need a…friend.'

That made me smile a bit. He wants to help, I know it. And I _do_ need someone. But not Harry. Not right now.

'I would, but honestly, Harry, I…I can't. I just need to get my thoughts together and everything first. Maybe after the holidays though?'

'Yeah. Of course.' Harry starts to walk around me, but stops. 'I think you should go and talk to Dumbledore. He helps me sort things out. He'll want to see you.'

I rub my arms, suddenly really feeling the cold. 'Yeah, I'll…I'll go do that. See Dumbledore. Have a chat. I think I need it.' My laugh's shaky and he doesn't join in.

'I want to do…what I can,' Harry manages. There's guilt in his face, and the recognition of an unspoken blame that I shouldn't feel. Harry couldn't have done anything about Cedric. He couldn't have done anything…

'Bye, Harry.' I kiss his cheek and walk past him, conflicting emotions threatening to drown me. Harry helps. The holidays will help. And now Dumbledore. I glance back to see if Harry's still there, but he's already gone, so I slowly make my way to Dumbledore's office.


End file.
